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Kirishima’s POV
Uraraka was staring at him from across the common room.
Eijirou and the rest were cramped in the common room, a play of racing video games with Bakugou and Sero currently going head to head on the screen. Eijirou was lounging on the couch, his legs draped over Ashido, intently cheering Bakugou on after that unmanly way Sero had cheated and kicked Eijirou out of the running.
At the last second, Bakugou pushed his character forward with Turbo and made it to the finish line, seconds before Sero. A burst of energy shot through Eijirou, “Yeah, way to go, Bakugou!” he shouted, moving to pull Bakugou into a hug from where he was sitting on the floor in front of him. Bakugou, preoccupied by teasing Sero and taking over the wad of cash from a defeated Kaminari, was too busy to swat away Eijirou’s arms around his chest.
“Yeah, fuckers! Kirishima, I told you I’ll kill Tape for ya!” Bakugou’s laugh reverberated through him, travelling through his back and into Eijirou’s chest pressed against it. It made his insides bloom.
Eijirou laughed, the way he did whenever it had anything to do with Bakugou’s antics, trying to swallow down the blush spreading across his form. The boy had this effect on him, one that Eijirou had known about for the better part of a year now but had no greater accustomed to. Each time he was in close proximity with Bakugou - which was a lot, usually by his own design - his insides felt strong and on the verge of melting, all at once. Like he was being lifted up into the sky, enjoying the rising view, with no idea how to get back down on solid ground.
Uraraka was watching him intently from the other couch.
The group moved on eventually, Ashido and Bakugou opting out of the gameplay to turn in, while Kaminari and Sero continued to Kam’s room for another marathon. Eijirou was too tired, and too on edge, to follow them down to the boy’s room.
Bakugou asked him if he was coming, looking tired and sharply into Eijirou's eyes, with his right arm hooked into his shirt, revealing some of the skin around his torso - and Eijirou had to remind himself to calm down. He had some work to do, is what he told an unconvinced Bakugou, before turning on his heel to walk into the kitchen where Uraraka was warming herself a cup of Yaoyorozu’s tea.
“Hi, Kirishima-kun,” she said upon his entrance, a form of greeting that sounded more like a summon. She wasn’t making eye contact with him - but was inviting him in like she knew he’d come.
“Hey, Uraraka, what-cha making?” Eijirou smiled, hoping to elevate the tension. She’d been staring at him all night, in prolonged instances and always on his periphery. Uraraka wasn’t the type of girl to stare like a hawk and not say anything. Needless to say, it had put him on edge.
It looked like she wasn’t in the mood for any antics today. Which was surprising, given her close friendship with Ashido and Kaminari, of all people.
“What’s going on between you and Bakugou?”
Eijirou’s brain came to a halt.
That’s why she’d been staring at him - gathering evidence. Watching him wade through his pathetic crush-turned-probably-something-more on his best friend of three years. Eijirou thought he was pretty quiet about it, keeping it hidden from even Ashido.
Well, it seemed that he had finally been caught.
No use in lying now, he supposed.
“Nothing! What’s going on between you and Midoriya?”
Okay, fine. He couldn’t just admit to her what he barely admitted to anyone else, not like this - the kitchen light dimly lit, hanging above them like some kind of justice-awaiting. Him having just been draped over Bakugou not one hour ago, with Uraraka watching them like she was in on a secret even he didn’t comprehend fully.
Besides, it’s not like whatever was going on between her and Midoriya was any less obvious . She’d gotten on top of the school buildings and basically proclaimed her love for him back in first year, after all. That wasn’t nothing. Plus, Bakugou had had his fair share of instances of “damned Deku whining” about her, so Eijirou knew that there definitely wasn’t nothing between them.
Uraraka’s face turned red in a way that had nothing to do with the boiling kettle in front of her. Ah, he thought mindlessly, that’s what I look like.
It seemed that she was going through a thought spiral of her own, deciding what to indulge. He got the feeling. It wasn’t like Uraraka and him didn’t trust each other - they got along well, always did. It was more a matter of how much to say out loud to maintain the blanket of plausible deniability, just in case this whole thing came toppling down in the future.
“That’s different,” she decided for now.
“You floated a whole tub of mochi into oblivion last week because Midoriya put his arm around your shoulder,” Eijirou reminded her. It was very funny - Midoriya had turned red and shoved his arm off her the instant he realised what happened, and the two had walked the rest of the festival still next to each other, but not looking and not brushing hands - even accidentally, the way he and Bakugou did sometimes. Sero and Bakugou had snickered the whole way through, the gossips.
Uraraka was going red again, but she looked at him - determined. He did not like where this was going.
“Well, didn’t you break your headboard because Bakugou asked you to go hiking with him in second year?”
“How do you know about that?”
“Everybody knows about that.”
“I’d never been hiking before.”
“With him.”
“That’s not the point.”
“What’s the point, then?”
Eijirou didn’t really have an answer. She knew it, by the smug look currently plastered on her face.
“So - we have our hands full with the class’s resident problem duo, huh?”
It was all Eijirou could say instead. She laughed then, nodding her head like she understood him a little too well. And maybe, given the way Midoriya and Bakugou were two sides of the same coin no matter how much they refused to really admit it - she really did get what it was like to be in love with one of them.
“Yeah, I suppose we do.” He smiled back at her, because she knew there was no point in threading a lie. “Anyway, tea?”
--
Bakugou’s POV
Katsuki had been feeling some kind of unrest for a few days now.
His muscles were taut and strained in a way that didn’t make him feel good, didn’t make him feel like the comedown of a hard-earned, sweat-dripping workout. Didn’t make endorphins float in his brain, alleviating his mood by a total of three percent before stupid Kaminari would inevitably find him and dare to show him another one of his stupid memes.
Kirishima had chosen to do his post-workout cool down with Round Cheeks today.
It’s not like Katsuki cared about who Kirishima trained with. It’s not like he was expecting him to walk over, slinging his arm around his shoulder and jabbering away about his form or the intensity of his hardening, or what they’re going to eat for dinner after. Making demands like Katsuki wasn’t going to be the one doing the cooking, with the redhead contributing nothing but the name of the dish he wanted today and the chatter of his voice as it takes over the kitchen around Katsuki.
No, Katsuki chanted as he walked to the dorms alone - shoulders slightly hung and steps slightly lethargic - it’s not like he cared that Kirishima had walked the other way.
He went and took a shower. He changed out of his sports uniform and into his home clothes. He padded down to the common area, not looking towards the slit beneath Kirishima’s adjoining door - no light in sight, indicating he hadn’t returned from wherever he was. Not looking around the common room for a blip of red hair, currently only filled with the crescendo of Ashido’s shrieks and Jirou’s adjoining laughter.
He entered the kitchen, grunting some form of greeting towards Sato, who was currently in the process of baking up a storm of donuts and calling it meal prep.
No, he didn’t care that this was usually the part of the day when it was just him and Red in the kitchen, him hunched over the stove and Red taking his rightful place on the counter next to him. Kirishima rambling on and on about some manga he was in the middle of or some pet bird he rescued the other day, Katsuki grunting at semi-random intervals to tell him he was listening. Katsuki plating two bowls of curry and rice, and Kirishima chomping it down whole - sharp teeth and all - like death by choking on Katsuki’s food was a death he would happily accept.
The lights of the kitchen hanging low and dim, the chatter of the common room faded into periphery, the cadence of Kirishima’s laughter and the smell of curry bowls - consumed and satiated - overtaking his senses.
He shook his head like it’d rid him of these thoughts, tied the stupid orange apron Red had given him for his birthday around his waist, and got to work. Made his arms move with a clear cut precision he’d hoped would beat any margin for error, wean away any irrational thoughts taking root on his shoulders, a chip cemented.
He made two clear portions of katsudon, plating a single bowl and wrapping the other in cellophane. Placed it on their shelf in the fridge, which was still littered with their leftovers from two nights ago and a bag of jelly cups Kirishima had insisted on buying on their last trip to the convenience store. Shut the fridge door closed with more force than needed, jostling his own bowl into spilling some onto the floor. Just fucking great.
He bent down to erase away the evidence of his blunders, the rice in his bowl growing cold with the wait. Threw the tissues away like they’d done him wrong, like wasted katsu was a crime he didn’t wish to be committing.
He grabbed his bowl back up, not bothering to reheat its contents - much more interested in making a beeline to his bedroom.
And that’s when he saw them. Walking in, some kind of smile on their faces and a blush on Uraraka’s cheeks, living up to the nickname. Kirishima’s eyes, red and soft and elated, boring into her laugh. Stars, dazzling, just out of reach of Katsuki’s hands.
He strolled into the common room with an ease as though he wasn’t forty-three minutes late (to a meeting time they’d never agreed upon in the first place.). Not with so many words, sure, but-
But nothing. It was fine. Kirishima’s stupid laugh roared across the room as he stood near the couch, still unknown to Katsuki’s presence at the kitchen door, and just absolutely nothing seared through Katsuki’s heart.
It was fine. Everything was absolutely fine. Katsuki needed to go up to his room and have his dinner. He needed to complete some history homework and do his hand stretches. He needed to fall asleep early, for the run he and Kirishima were supposed to go to come morning.
Kirishima decided to look up then. Decided to lift his head and allow the crown of his hair fall to his shoulders like everything should, surrendering and on their knees at his arrival. Decided to roam his gaze across the room, instinctively moving towards the kitchen door, to land on Katsuki - unhidden and on all wide display.
Decided to grin a smile so wide that Katsuki wondered if his cheeks would hurt if he pulled at them after.
“Bakugou, hey!” He boomed, walking towards him with his arms outstretched, allowing something hard and burning loosen in Katsuki’s chest. “Oh my god, I’m sorry I missed your cooking,” his eyes swept over the food in Katsuki’s hand, a hand falling upon his shoulder like it lived there. An apologetic crinkle played in his eyes, a pout formed on his mouth. Like he’d missed some performance he’d been looking forward to all week.
Katsuki wanted to punch the pout off the redhead’s face.
The knot in Katsuki’s chest loosened a little bit more, letting some steam escape.
“Yours is in the fridge, idiot,” there was nothing else to say.
But there was so much to see. So, so much to see.
The way a grin broke across his face, forcing the pout to fall apart, earth-moving and blinding. His red eyes, first widened and boring into Katsuki’s, then breaking into a happier crinkle alongside his smile. His hand, clutching Katsuki’s shoulder like a lifeline, like he’d fall if he didn’t let go. His voice, his rhythm, the sweat on his throat as he threw his head back laughing,
“Bakugou, man, you’re just so, ” he wasn’t finishing that sentence. He was grinning wide and loosening his grip on Katsuki’s shoulder, his shoulder left cold, and the idiot wasn’t finishing what he was going to say. Katsuki was ‘so’ what?
He moved to the fridge like a child finding the hidden stash of candy in his mother’s cabinet, ripping off the cellophane and grabbing two pieces of jelly to go with. So he planned on eating with Katsuki, like always, after all.
The heathen didn’t even bother heating up the food, too busy ripping his chopsticks in two and sitting down around the dining table, unoccupied except for the two of them, as usual around this time.
“This is the best dinner I’ve had in my entire life,” he was saying, mouth still full and a piece of rice clinging to his chin. Katsuki instinctively reached out to move it out of his stupidly perfect face.
“You say that every night, idiot,” he said, brushing his hand on his chest to stop the tingling memory of Kirishima’s skin and pretending to pick away at any leftover rice residue.
When Katsuki lifted his gaze, Kirishima’s face was as red as his hero costume. His mouth was frozen mid-sentence, like whatever he wanted to say was biding its time on the tip of his tongue. His eyes morphed into something else, something wide and vulnerable, something like a hurtling through a million stars with the promise of a soft landing.
He gathered himself enough to choke out, cheeks flaming and hands gripping the edge of the table, “Yeah, well, you outdo yourself every day.”
Katsuki knew, with the heat rising in his veins that had nothing to do with the spices in his dinner, that his face was as red as Red’s hero costume, too. The stupid ball in his chest was still warm, still tight, but it was shining this time - instead of burning him alive.
“Just shut up and eat your food, Red. We have our run in the morning,” he buried his face in his bowl despite it being nearly empty, not because there was a blush creeping up his cheeks and definitely not because the endorphins had finally found their way into his heart.
--
Much like every other area in Katsuki’s life, and definitely like the area that had to do with his itching need to achieve, to leave his mark on everything he touched as if he was branding it his - the relief of winning Kirishima’s time during dinner the other day was temporary and fleeting.
Because, it had been ten days and Kirishima had blown him off in one way or another for half of them.
This one time, Katsuki had asked him to spar with him, like he always did, and Kirishima had sputtered some excuse about needing to go and Katsuki had found him on the other side of the training grounds, head down and gaze hidden within Uraraka’s, who was throwing her head back laughing over something funny the redhead must have said and Katsuki will not be finding out.
Fucking peachy. Just fucking peachy. He blew up three cement blocks Cementoss had annoyingly created to keep the practices separated, ignored that Yellow Haired idiot’s shrieking when a chunk hit him square in the back, and took the long way home.
Ashido had the audacity to ask him what was going on with him when he entered the common room to cook yet another two bowls of dinner with one growing cold. He didn’t have the gusto to blast her away. “Mind your fucking business, Pinky,” he’ said and tried to move out of her unsurprisingly strong defense.
“Can’t seem to stomach Kirishima’s growing friendship, huh?”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about, as usual,” the grit in his teeth was strong enough that he was sure they would be sanded down by the end of this conversation.
“Yeah, maybe I don’t. But I’m pretty sure I know Kirishima. I’m just shocked that you don’t - not yet, at least.” The twinkle in her eye wanted him to wear a blindfold for the rest of his life.
“And what the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Y’know, you should just focus more on what he does with you and less on what he does with everybody else. You might be surprised.”
Again, Katsuki had no idea what the hell she was talking about, and he was pretty sure she didn’t either. He noticed each and everything about how Kirishima acted around him, what he did, where he kept his overfamiliar hands and which parts of Bakugou’s speech made him laugh a little too hard. There wasn’t a piece of information about that red haired loser that hadn’t logged itself in Katsuki’s brain.
“Don’t tell me what to do.”
He hadn’t waited for her answer. He’d shoved himself out of her flanking arms - she was strong enough to keep herself from falling - and moved to the kitchen.
If he chopped the greens a little harder than necessary, there was nobody to comment on it. If he spread the ingredients all the way across the counter, there wasn’t anybody else taking up the space, anyway. If he put yet another bowl wrapped in cellophane in the fridge before bee-lining for his dorm, second time this week, he made sure not to glance underneath the adjoining room’s door, checking for any light.
There was only darkness, and nobody was home.
--
He’d tried once or twice, too. Barged into Kirishima’s room on a Sunday and asked him to come to the convenience store with him. And then blow off some steam. Go to an arcade or something, he didn’t know.
Just do one of those things that got their blood rushing and flowing smooth at the same time, one of those things the redhead was always dragging him to and Katsuki was learning to not have an excuse to say no.
One of those things Kirishima seemed delighted, for whatever reason, to do with him.
He was met with a door slammed in his face.
Not physically, no, because Kirishima was honey-dripping sweet and all things good, but with words that might just be harsher than if he had actually chosen to, all the same.
“Oh, sorry, Bakugou - I’m going to help Uraraka with something today. Maybe next weekend?”
Yeah, yeah, Bakugou would rather be caught between two slates of immovable concrete.
“Oh,” was all he choked out. Eloquent as ever. Quite the conversationalist. Uraraka’s got nothing on this, he’s sure.
He’s sure.
“Yeah, I’m sorry,” Kirishima had started, looking genuinely sorry, burning Katsuki’s veins. He’d rather take a punch to the throat than face his sincerity. Rather be told to get away and fuck off than be given the promise of another time.
It wasn’t all that big of an issue.
Katsuki had been too late, and Kirishima was going to Uraraka.
It was as simple and as unnoteworthy as that.
“But I can ask if I can see her after?” He’d offered, like some brand of saint, accommodating everyone and everything and leaving no margin for mistakes. Nothing for Katsuki to peel at and pass the blame onto.
He almost wanted to say yes. Almost wanted to grab his few hours in his sun and its shine. But the thought of him, going back home with a day well spent and his chest uncomfortably light, and Kirishima slipping away to go to Uraraka, to do whatever it was that they did when Katsuki wasn’t around - made his insides burn.
“No, that’s fine. ‘S whatever.”
He didn’t wait for an answer. He absolutely didn’t meet his eyes. He simply shoved his hands into his pockets, turned his heel - still standing a few ways shy of Kirishima’s door - and walked away. He thought Kirishima called out to him, saying something nice and sweet and rewarding , but the blood gushing in his ears was loud enough to drown out everything else.
--
Kirishima’s POV
Eijirou genuinely believed that there was nothing like Bakugou that had ever existed.
Bakugou was off to the other side of the grounds, blasting a series of his Howitzers, far faster and blazing than he did back in first year, and he was glorious.
He moved like a danseur - trained and precise in his footwork; like a boomerang - strung-through and wind-cutting; like a shooting star - lighting up Eijirou’s night sky, promising him the dream of a wish come true.
Eijirou was sure that he could drown in his light and die a happy man.
“How's your gawking going lately, Kirishima-kun?” Uraraka’s voice cut through his overly honest thoughts.
He was sitting on the gym floor, doing his end-workout stretches off the course of Bakugou and the rest still training. Uraraka was still in her hero costume, floating down at him like a messenger from the heavens.
But, the teasing tone of her voice and the flutter in her step let Eijirou know that she would not be applying her affinity for rescuing on lovesick lowlifes like him. Not today.
“Hi, Uraraka,” he started. “You caught me.”
She laughed then, free and light. They’d grown closer these past few weeks - agonizing over your hopeless ‘will-they-won’t-they-why-won’t-they’ situations with the class’s resident problem duo had a way of doing that. Eijirou felt safe and heard when he blabbered on about Bakugou, something he’d do too often and too much if given the chance.
Uraraka returned in kind - don’t get him wrong. He now knew enough about Midoriya’s day-to-day, intimate details that would put Bakugou’s “childhood best friend” title to shame: his favorite food after a busy week, the scent of Midoriya’s shampoo, the light scar on his lower back from when he fell off some swings when he was a child (Uraraka had mentioned that and gone red, and refused to elaborate how she’d come to see it.). All these details took residence in Uraraka’s mind, and Eijirou was more than happy to listen.
He had, after all, bored her enough with details of his own. He bet that she could recite Bakugou’s top five music artists, the specific brand of spices he put in his food, the story of how he’d blown up his umbrella in the rain the other day after Kaminari had pissed him off. All because Eijirou had spent his fair share of time unloading this information from his brain and onto hers.
He chuckled in response. “Yeah, well, I’m still working up the nerve…”
It was a conversation they’d had too many times already. Eijirou knew the manly thing to do would be to stop cowering behind the label of “just friends” and make his feelings known to Bakugou. It felt like he was deceiving him in some way whenever they spent time together, the blonde unknown to the flurry of feelings in Eijirou’s chest, bursting forward for him. Eijirou definitely did not like hiding anything from the one person he could talk to everything about.
So, he and Uraraka had spent - no doubt thanks to Uraraka’s surprisingly lethal words of motivation - some time thinking about how he could ask Bakugou out. A simple question, they’d both agreed on. Bakugou wasn’t one for over the top antics. Maybe he’d ask him to go to their favorite food spot, closer to downtown, to make them feel the weight of being away from UA - together and intentional. Maybe he’d ask him to go to the arcade, the one just down the street, the one Eijirou had taken him to after Bakugou helped him pass their first year final exams.
Eijirou could ask him the question in a million different ways - he wasn’t afraid of accidentally planning a bad date. He was confident that he knew Bakugou’s likes and dislikes better than almost anyone. What he was afraid of, irrationally and all-consuming, was that he was the bad date to begin with. That he’d walk down to Bakugou’s dorm and puff out the question - steady and stammering - and Bakugou would look at him, incredulous and bizarre, maybe a little angry - at Eijirou’s assumptions about their relationship, about him.
They never spoke about these things - at least not when it was just the two of them. Hell, he wasn’t sure if Bakugou even knew that he liked men. He wasn’t entirely sure that Bakugou did, either.
“Kirishima, you’re spiraling again,” Uraraka’s voice broke him out of yet another mental staircase he kept descending down. He wasn’t sure how many steps still stretched out before him.
“Yeah, well, I haven’t seen him properly in a few days. I think he’s pulling away from me,” Eijirou voiced a concern he wasn’t sure he could entirely process yet. Anything to change the topic from the looming question he had yet to ask Bakugou, the one that might just change everything.
He’d noticed Bakugou’s change in demeanour - of course he had. At this point, he was sure he had two quirks like Todoroki - one for hardening, and another to sense the change in vibrations according to Bakugou’s moods. He’d noticed the easily set-off temper, a return to their 1-A days, the way Bakugou would leave Eijirou bowls of dinner in the fridge instead of eating with him, the way Bakugou refused to really look at him in class. It was all getting to his head.
But then, there were other times, when it was all as normal and heart-wrenching as ever. Just yesterday, Bakugou had defeated both Midoriya and Todoroki in a race, and there he was - grinning like a victor and meeting Eijirou’s gaze across the field. He’d told Kaminari and the rest to scram when they asked him to tutor them for the upcoming English test, but Eijirou found him plopped down on his bedroom floor later that day without hesitation.
The push and pull, however, was really not helping his spirals. And was definitely not helping his wavering resolve.
“I think you need to stop finding excuses and ask him out. What’s the worst he could say?”
Easier said than done for some of us, he wanted to say. There wasn’t a doubt in anyone’s mind that Midoriya was head over heels for Uraraka the way she was for him . They were a set of blushing faces whenever they were around each other, and Midoriya had even gotten her flowers the other day, “just because.” Uraraka had burst into Eijirou’s room at eleven pm, well past curfew, only to shout “He’s going to be the death of me!” and collapse on his bed without further context.
Eijirou understood it all the same, nursing Bakugou’s prepared bowl of dinner from a few hours ago.
The worst Bakugou could say was something Eijirou didn’t want to think about - but it didn’t help that his mind went there all the same. The worst case scenario was the end of their friendship, and Eijirou had too much on the line, too much weight in his heart, too much anchoring him in place, to take the jump.
Bakugou lit everything up like the sun, and Eijirou couldn’t approach him with such a daring proposition if he wasn’t sure that there was absolute victory in his future.
And, for all that Eijirou had done to build up his self-image, for all the prepared dinner bowls and warming hugs and convenience store runs that lingered into something more each time - Eijirou just wasn’t sure if he deserved an absolute victory in these trying hands.
“He could say ‘no, shut up and die,’ and then kill me for assuming his feelings, Uraraka,” Eijirou sighed dramatically.
“Right now, I’m going to kill you for assuming his feelings,” her reply was quick and exact, her tone on the edge of amused and exasperated. Uraraka could be as menacing as Midoriya at his worst sometimes, and Eijirou could see what made them tick.
Eijirou thought that he could feel the piercing gaze of Bakugou’s reds on him across the field as he threw his head back laughing. He tried to meet them, meet him like he always did, but then Bakugou was moving, shaking his head and a scowl cemented on his face like it had never known any other residence. Eijirou saw him shove Sero out his way, shouting some curses about fucking idiots and being too damn loud for anything else, and Eijirou didn’t think it was the time to point out the irony in his words.
Bakugou was pissed off about something, he always was - but Eijirou couldn’t help but feel there was something different about the way his patience had drastically reduced over the last few weeks.
He shot a look at Uraraka, who simply nodded, an amused “get him!” following him as he got up and ran up to the blonde.
“Hey, Blasty, you ready to hit the-”
“Fuck off, Red, I got work to do,” he said, voice controlled and irritated. Eijirou stopped in his tracks, his arm hovering over Bakugou’s shoulder.
Bakugou didn’t stop for him, not like he usually did. Didn’t let him enough time to drape his arm across his, to drag him towards the locker rooms. He just simply kept walking, brisk and purposeful, leaving Eijirou behind - a little confused and a whole lot hollow.
--
Bakugou’s POV
Katsuki wasn’t fucking stupid. He knew the effect Kirishima had on people.
He saw the way even the most aloof like Todoroki could be seen staggering at Kirishima’s sincerity ("Todoroki, man, that reaction time was insane! You’re too cool for us,” Kirishima had said to him after practice once, squeezing his arms, nodding and grinning that big goofy grin like an excited dog, and Katsuki was pretty sure - with the way Icy Hot lagged to a halt - that that was the moment he had his gay awakening.
Kirishima was, of course, unaware.).
He saw the way Kaminari, and Sero, and the fucking rest , crowded around his desk the moment class was out - all clamoring in for his attention ("Kiri, bro, look at the video I sent you,” the idiot of all idiots, Kaminari could be heard shouting. Sero could be seen planted on the redhead’s desk like he had never known any other home. Kirishima smiled up at the two and kept up multiple conversations simultaneously like it was the fuel his brain needed to function.).
The way the upper years had all but adopted him after he started working with Fat Gum, with Togata inviting Amajiki and Amajiki dragging Kirishima as collateral. There’d already been more than enough nights of Kirishima telling Katsuki that he’d be late to their homework session, having gotten caught up with Togata and Amajiki and damned Tetsutetsu’s whatever.
It was fine. Everything was fine. Kirishima would invite him to join his agency’s get-togethers - of course he would - and Katsuki would refuse - of course he would. He didn’t exactly care why. He just knew there was a lot of doting, a lot of hands over Kirishima in a way Katsuki could never drape his own - resting across his shoulder, brushing his neck, ruffling his hair - in a way that made him feel a little nauseous and a whole lot angry. Like something was pulling at his ends, and the inseam was built to tear apart.
Katsuki wasn’t fucking stupid. Of course, people wanted the redhead around. He had the kind of infectious laughter and the twinkling set of eyes that one couldn’t help but drown in, moving with the tides without much authority.
Of course, of course, Kirishima had more joy and laughter and sincerity nestled at the base of his throat than he knew what to do with, than Katsuki had ever seen in one single person. Oozing out of him tenfold, turning everything he touched into gold.
Katsuki was a selfish, greedy creature - with something burning hot and gnarly red at the centre of his chest - digging his claws into anything that made the mistake of entering his periphery.
Kirishima turned everything into liquid gold, and Katsuki had only ever known an unquenchable thirst. Desperate to melt his throat raw, to let the jewels lay heavy on his heart, to allow his blood to burst red and gold - his insides turned out on wide display.
So yeah, when there was honey dripping down the jagged edges of Kirishima’s heart, overabundant and all-welcoming, who wouldn’t want to snag a taste?
Nobody had a resolve that strong. And - as Katsuki had learnt to live with for the most part - his was weaker than most.
--
Kirishima’s POV
Bakugou was avoiding him.
Not entirely, not wholly - he was still showing up to their homework sessions, to their morning runs, still leaving a bowl of food on their shelf in the fridge - but Bakugou was avoiding his eyes.
He wouldn’t look at him much anymore.
Eijirou tried to meet him from across the train station as they left for their work-studies, him and Midoriya heading westward while Eijirou and Uraraka heading north, and he all but walked into the wall behind him instead of just waving him goodbye. Eijirou tried not to let it get to him on their three hour journey, shooting a quick, “have a good weekend kicking villains down!!” text instead.
He didn’t receive a response until two days later, on their way back to school. “Sure you did too, red.”
He tried not to think about it too much. A busy weekend keeping their cities safe, he was sure was all it was. He tried to let his heart bloom at the words instead.
--
Uraraka had dragged him away the moment the bell rang for lunch. Apparently, Midoriya had bought a new perfume on his trip back home, and Uraraka was ninety percent sure it was the same scent as hers - honey and vanilla - and she needed Eijirou to find a way to inconspicuously find out.
Apart from sniffing the air like a dog the next time he was in Midoriya’s proximity, he wasn’t sure how he could help. Uraraka had asked, with more logic than was flowing through Eijirou’s head at the moment given the absurd nature of her request - for him to simply join them for lunch and ask Midoriya the billion yen question.
So that’s how he found himself, planted on the self-proclaimed Dekusquad’s table, talking away with Asui about the football tournament they were both following, laughing with Uraraka about her latest attempt at baking a batch of cookies to rival Sato, and casually asking Midoriya about his perfume - which was, indeed, honey and vanilla. Just normal stuff.
He wondered what his own group of friends were up to, sitting a few tables away. He could see Kaminari tossing pieces of mushroom on Sero, who was absent-mindedly catching them with his tape as he continued eating. Ashido was laughing, tapping Bakugou’s shoulder, who was looking straight ahead - pissed off and silent.
Straight ahead at Eijirou.
He was suddenly moved by his eyes, red and blazing and charming, boring their presence straight into Eijirou’s soul. He thought, off-handedly, that if there was someone with a thought-reader quirk around - they’d think him a sap, but he couldn’t help it. Bakugou’s eyes brought out some kind of latent poet in him.
God, he wanted to go to him.
Sit next to him and let their thighs brush under the table, pressed firm in the cramped space. Watch Bakugou eat away at his food, a vision of calm that wasn’t usually seen. Hide his blush as Bakugou wordlessly tossed his pieces of nori onto Eijiriou’s plate, because he knows Eijirou loves them and Bakugou, apparently, "doesn’t fucking eat seaweed.”
Liar. Eijirou knew (read: he hoped) Bakugou was giving the nori to him because he knew it was his favorite.
The staring match didn’t last very long. The moment their eyes met, Eijirou raising his hand to wave, the smile breaking across his face automatically - Bakugou got up with a thud. Grabbed his plate, half-eaten by the looks of it, extra stacks of nori sitting unattended, and stomped out the exit. Ashido had asked him where he was going, and he’d mumbled something Eijirou couldn’t catch from far away- before turning his heel, flushed red in some kind of anger Eijirou hadn’t seen, maybe ever.
Nobody around them noticed. Bakugou stomping out the room was hardly anything out of the ordinary.
But Eijirou couldn’t help but drop his hand down back to his lap, hidden away from the seemingly watching crowd all around him.
--
Bakugou’s POV
“What’s going on with you and Pink Cheeks over there?”
Katsuki asked just Kirishima, direct and honest and tired of his brain ruminating over the frequency their laughter played at - a decibel unknown to Katsuki’s failing ears. So he’d simply asked. Not like he cared, per se, but Kirishima had always had an allocated set of time devoted to Katsuki, and it was being chipped away day by day by day.
Katsuki was not irritated, not in the slightest, about how Kirishima and Uraraka seemed to be doing everything that he and Kirishima used to. He was not irritated at the sight of them stretching together on the grounds last week, at the sight of Uraraka entering Kirishima’s dorm after eleven fucking pm, god knows what for. He wasn’t curious, in the slightest, back when Kirishima had lied about having some work to do and gone to see Uraraka in their kitchen, all those weeks ago.
He knew this was coming, this was always coming. Kirishima was always going to realize that there was more sunshine wedged between the gaps of his teeth than Katsuki knew how to chew. Katsuki always knew that there was going to be someone else who could fill the holes of Katsuki’s perfectionism with their own light, drowning him out in front of the redhead. Someone was going to come along - just as clean and breezy as Kirishima was, despite the redhead’s own beliefs - and Kirishima would realize that Katsuki was a passion project he’d picked up on the way because he couldn’t leave strays alone.
So, of course, he was eventually going to move on from the bubble Katsuki had created around them, one that he now realised, more than ever before, only existed in his own head. Kirishima was going to find others to spar with, to laugh with, to drape himself around when they won a stupid video game. Someone else who may be able to teach him how to cook his own food instead of just doing it for him, in the way Katsuki did - a desperate attempt to make himself useful.
Katsuki knew this day was coming, it always was - it had to be, with someone like Kirishima - but it hurt all the same. He thought, he didn’t know what he thought -
He thought they had more time.
So, Katsuki had simply asked. Dared his nerves to settle into calm, dared the racing beat of his heart to lower the amp and take a break - monthly heart checkups and all be damned.
Kirishima had floundered. Clumsily, rubbing the back of his neck as he did whenever he was nervous, eyes widening too quickly and then closing shut as if to force himself awake from a bad dream. The pit in Katsuki’s stomach grew wider with every second.
“Red, I asked you a question.” His voice was shaking. There wasn’t a damn thing in Katsuki’s world that wasn’t shaking whenever the redhead was around. There wasn’t a thing in existence that didn’t rattle, hollow and boneless and empty, when the redhead wasn’t.
“Between Uraraka and I?”
Katsuki sighed. Exasperation and a tingling surge of blood rushing through his veins, making him see that ugly, loathsome, envious green. “Yes, Kirishima, what’s going on with you two? You dating?”
That got a reaction out of him. His filthy mouth had a way of getting under everybody’s skin, in a way he himself never did. “What- No! Of course not! It’s not like that, Baku-”
“Then tell me, what’s it like?”
“Why are you so curious about this?”
The question fell out of his lips without any venom. Without any accusations that Katsuki’s tell tale heart didn’t know how to handle. Without any kind of anger that Katsuki could spar with, one that he could meet head on and beat his knuckles bloody.
No, because this was Kirishima and all that this boy touched bloomed into a garden of gold, all one could fight in his wake was an unbreakable wall of sincerity. Of curiosity reflecting in his eyes, of genuine concern and an openness that suggested that he would tell Katsuki all the secrets of his life if he’d just ask.
Unfortunately for them, unfortunately for everyone Katsuki had ever met, and most of all, unfortunately for himself - he was never good with asking for what he truly wanted.
“‘m not fucking curious, Shitty Hair. It’s just a question.”
He was lying through his teeth, the feel of that nickname he’d abandoned months ago foreign on his scraping tongue, his gums bloody and ice blue.
--
Kirishima’s POV
“What’s going on with you and Pink Cheeks over there?”
Bakugou had asked him a question, and Eijirou didn’t have an answer that wouldn’t absolutely wreck everything.
He needed time. Him and Uraraka had a plan. He needed to slip up and make Bakugou aware of his attraction, and then he had to ask him out on a date in a way that was manly and interesting enough for Bakugou to agree to go out with him, and then he had to make sure Uraraka got what she wanted with Midoriya.
He wanted to wait. Wanted to bide his time in this limbo, where he was still just Bakugou’s best friend and Bakugou was unaware of how he lit up the sky in Eijirou’s eyes. Enjoy watching him from his peripheral vision, content with the hours Bakugou gave him - when he didn’t give his hours to anybody - and err on the side of caution instead of being greedy.
Eijirou wanted to blurt everything out, with the plan half hatched and his resolve still half-formed, no matter how many pep talks he and Uraraka had rehearsed in the mirror. He wanted to continue holding onto his fantasy of Bakugou saying yes to his inane proposal, a daring ask, reveling in the image of them enjoying the rest of their lives in the comfort of Bakugou’s cooking and Eijirou’s chatter on the counter next to him.
But he couldn’t, he couldn’t continue fantasising about his best friend as he lay just next door each night, separated by paper thin walls that held each promise Eijirou couldn’t bring himself to say.
It seemed he had waited too long to give the blonde his answer.
“Fine, whatever it is, don’t tell me. I don’t fucking care.”
“And that’s the thing, Bakugou. I know you do,” he almost said in response.
Eijirou knew he cared. Bakugou cared so, so much. About everything that had anything to do with him. Eijirou was just scared it was in a form that he couldn’t take - not anymore, not after all this simmering deep within his heart.
He was afraid that Bakugou thought of him as a friend - his best friend, in fact, trusted and true - and Eijirou wanted to give him the stars.
He was afraid that Bakugou didn’t even know that Eijirou could have thoughts like that about him, about a man, about anyone. And here he was, sitting straight-backed and draped across Bakugou’s headboard, his legs tangled up in Bakugou’s like it was just another day - lying through his teeth about the one thing he wanted to shout from the rooftops. Asking Bakugou for help with his English homework, giggling quietly at the way Bakugou pronounced a certain word - foreign on his tongue - and swallowing down the taste of want. Shaking his head, seemingly out of nowhere, in hopes of brushing off the urge to reach across. Caress his cheek, flutter his eyelashes, clash a pair of lips with his own.
The urge was too much and too often, the pull was too scary and thrilling, Bakugou was his too much and too little - all at once. Eijirou was sure he was going insane.
And every moment he spent in Bakugou’s presence, pretending that they were friends and everything was just as he wanted, that there were no dreams of hands held out of want and not just sheer need, Eijirou’s descent into madness took a further step down.
Eijirou didn’t have these kinds of thoughts about anyone else. Least of all Uraraka, who was drowning in her own misery of unrequited over Bakugou’s green-haired counterpart.
“There’s nothing to tell, Blasty. She’s just a friend. We’re friends.”
“Yeah, sure. I get it.”
The reply came quick. The blonde refused to meet his gaze.
Bakugou just moved, across the small bed and the smaller core of Eijirou’s heart, and untangled his legs from his.
--
Bakugou’s POV
“Oi, damn nerd.”
Fine, fine, fucking fine, he’ll get to the bottom of this. Everybody wanted Kirishima, and he was no better, and it seemed his assumptions that he had him were laid bare and false - Kirishima’s precious time taken up by the entire idiot brigade and none more than Uraraka.
And here, Uraraka’s other other half and the bane of Katsuki’s existence - the damned nerd - was standing outside the class door, waiting.
“Kacchan, took you long enough - how long does it take you to pack your bags?”
God, he was going to kill him. He may not be as loathsome and angry at Izuku as he used to be, he may even respect the nerd since the war, but his stupid tone was enough to send Katsuki back to the memories of their elementary school days.
“What do you want now?” He started walking towards the dorms, Izuku already a step ahead. God, he hates him. And Kirishima. And Uraraka. And everyone in this school. “Make it quick, nerd, I got work to do.”
“You know, your moods have been worse than I’ve seen in a while.”
There was that cocky smile playing on his face, along with those observational eyes that Katsuki thought were Izuku’s actual quirk. He was looking at him, in a way that was too familiar and foreign at the same time, and Katsuki knew that the boy could see right through him.
Just his luck to end up in the same school as his childhood nuisance. Not a moment of peace and respite, not for him, not in this life.
“My moods are none of your business. And,” he started, knowing there was no stopping Izuku once he started, “it’s not like you shouldn’t be bothered either. I don’t understand why you’re so cheerful about all this.”
That made the nerd stop and think for a second. At least, it made him stop staring up at Katsuki with those eyes.
“Well, I’m not worried about my side of things. I trust her, I know her, and I trust myself.” He smiled for a second, lost in some kind of memory, “I’d say, you need to work on your trust skills.”
“Wow, thanks nerd. Never would’ve picked up on that if you didn’t say the damned word four times in a single sentence.” Katsuki made it a point to roll his eyes directly in Deku’s field of vision. He was pissing him off, and he should know it.
“Yeah, that’s going to solve your pathetic whining over Kirishima,” he was looking straight ahead, face flat and unfazed like he hadn’t just said out loud something nobody should ever dare say to Katsuki.
“I don’t fucking whine, Izuku.”
“Maybe you should, maybe to him.”
“And what the hell is that supposed to mean?”
He turned to look at him then, face incredulous like he couldn’t believe that Katsuki was being so slow with it. He should really know him better by now, is what Katsuki wanted to say to him.
It’s not like he didn’t know what the nerd meant, it’s not like he didn’t know that it was the right thing to do. Lay himself honest and open for Kirishima to pick through and decide if he was something he wanted to hold in his soft hands.
“Thank you for telling me, Bakugou, you’re so manly!” The idiot would say. Katsuki’s heart would flutter like a damned butterfly out its cocoon for the first time.
“You’re my best friend, Bakugou, but I’m so sorry - I don’t feel the same.” He would follow up, voice dripping with genuine apology, and the butterflies would get crushed like the despicable bugs they are.
“I’m sorry, Bakugou, but I’m interested in someone else.” His heart is crumpled up and shattered by now, shoved under the gutter rails on the pavement, soaking wet and dirty. Never to be seen again.
“You’re still the closest person to me, you know that, right? Nothing has to change between us.” Kirishima would say the words he’d need to say, and Katsuki’s ears would never ring with the sound of anything else, ever again.
Katsuki would rather get crushed under the weight of the entire continent.
“Easier said than done, Izuku.”
“Since when do you take the easy way out?”
His replies were too rapidly thrown, too prepared at the tip of his tongue. If Katsuki hadn’t gone through that change of heart, he would’ve made him shut up with the crackling fire of his explosions.
But now, all he could think of was getting it over with. Ripping this band-aid off and letting whatever he had with Kirishima go. Let Kirishima make way for better things.
He knew the corner he’d occupied in Kirishima’s heart was standing on borrowed time, anyway. He knew there was too much in Red to give, and too much in Katsuki to take, and they would eventually run out.
At least, this way, Katsuki could choose to leave on his own terms. Could snatch a moment to pack his bags, erase his traces, and retreat from the shine of Kirishima’s smile.
Allow himself a shred of dignity by leaving when he wasn’t wanted than being asked to stop overstaying his welcome.
“Yeah, I’ll do what I got to do, nerd.”
Izuku didn’t look convinced one bit.
--
Kirishima’s POV
Eijirou was spiralling over his plans to finally do it, take Uraraka’s advice and the words of Crimson Riot and apply them to this - honestly, increasingly pathetic - crush on his best friend. Finally rip the band-aid off, use his mouth to say the words he’d been thinking for about two years now, and just -
His spiral was interrupted by a knock on his door.
He was met with none other than the object of his thoughts, Bakugou, standing with his hands shoved deep in his pocket. He hadn’t spoken to him properly in six days, and Eijirou would’ve almost been sure that he was avoiding him if it weren’t for Uraraka’s - honestly, venom-dripping when she had to be - pushes for him to stop looking for an out and just ask him what’s going on.
“Oh, hey, Bakugou, I was just going to-”
“Just shut up and listen, Kirishima.”
That got his attention. Well, honestly, anything that had anything to do with the blonde had his attention. But the tone with which Bakugou said it, the way he was looking at him but not really meeting his eyes - his stare was focused somewhere far away, his hands balled into fists even inside his pockets - had Eijirou’s attention now. Something was wrong with his best friend, and Eijirou’s feelings could wait.
He simply nodded. Urging him to continue, standing outside Eijirou’s door and making no attempts to push in.
Bakugou sighed, and finally met his eyes. They didn’t look right, they didn’t have their usual fire. Eijirou’s heart rate was spiking up.
“Listen, Red,” he started. “I get it, you have something else going on and I get it. I don’t want to know the details, I don’t want to have to learn how to handle it - but I get it. I’ll give you your space.”
Eijirou’s head was spinning faster than he could take on the meaning of his words. He was getting it wrong, so wrong, and like an idiot, Eijirou had waited and fucked this up.
“But, you should know,” Bakugou teared his eyes away again, finding the floor beneath them more interesting than his face. “If you feel like you ever need something or whatever, I’m-” a pause, like a fish hook caught in his throat, the same one that was currently punching holes through Eijirou’s heart, “I’m still here for you. If you fucking want, or whatever.”
If Eijirou needed something, Bakugou was there. If Eijirou wanted.
Eijirou felt his eyes widen. His heart was stirring a hurricane in his chest, shook by the meaning of Bakugou’s words. It came crashing down at him, overwhelming and all at once - like all things Bakugou. His avoidance the past few weeks, his irritation, his curiosity of Eijirou’s friendship with Uraraka.
Of course, of course, maybe, hopefully - Bakugou felt the same?
A lock clicked into place in his mind, having found its key in the shape of Bakugou standing in front of him, in the words he’d said, in the eyes he refused to meet.
He almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all. He’d thought himself into an anxiety spiral over Bakugou not wanting to talk to him after all this, and instead, here he was - eyes set and jaw clenched, making everything real on Eijirou’s foyer. Eijirou just hated that he didn’t get to it first, the way he’d been planning to.
“Bakugou, man, this is such bad timing.”
Poor choice of words. The way Bakugou’s eyes dropped at the sentence, one he’d spilled without much thought, was a poor choice of words.
“Wait, I meant, okay - I meant this is bad timing because,” he took a deep breath. Here goes.
God, he hoped he didn't misread this.
“I was on my way to ask if you want to go to the arcade tomorrow.”
By the looks of the blonde’s reaction, this new sentence wasn’t any better.
“Okay?”
He needed to be clearer.
Come on, be chivalrous, Eijirou. No regrets, right?
Come on. Let’s get to the good part.
“I wanted to ask you if you wanted to go to the arcade tomorrow,” he restated, breathing, here goes everything. “On a date. With me.”
He took a deep breath, his lungs feeling lighter with a weight lifted off them. Regardless of the consequence, at least it was out in the world, out his bleeding heart. Bakugou’s eyebrow arched in confusion, and Eijirou silently thought that he didn't even realize how shocked and endearing his face looked.
Shocked and open and bizarre, but not angry. Not unhappy.
He could be clearer, for him. Just once.
“Would you like to go on a date with me tomorrow, Bakugou?”
“Katsuki.”
“What?”
“Call me Katsuki, Eijirou.”
Eijrou was sure he had finally, truly and completely, gone insane.
His name had never sounded so right, not as much as it did falling from Bak- Katsuki’s lips. He felt real and recognised, like he was made of flesh and blood and bones, for the first time in his life.
Katsuki. Katsuki. Katsuki and Eijirou.
He was suddenly aware of everything around him - the concrete floor he was standing on, the polyester of his shirt, the gel in his hair, holding it upright.
The shine in Katsuki's eyes, still widened, but softer - softer than Eijirou had ever seen them. His scent, so familiar and warm, the smell of light and the smell of victory - overwhelming everything in Eijirou’s worldview.
Okay, yeah, he gets it now. He didn't read it wrong, after all.
“Katsuki, then - you still haven't given me an answer.”
The blonde’s eyes fell on the floor once again, as though reminded of an unpleasant memory. Katsuki’s reply was sharp and exact. A question within a statement. “I thought you were with Uraraka.”
Still not an answer.
It’s okay, Eijirou had endless patience. Especially when he was so close to what his heart had longed for so long. Especially when it had anything to do with the boy standing in front of him. He could be patient, and he could be honest - gladly so.
“She caught me staring at you a little too many times, I guess, and decided that we can bond over our troubles with the class’s problem duo.” He smiled, it felt good talking to Katsuki about this. All his anxiety was ebbing away from him in waves, barely noticeable under the weight of Katsuki’s shocked stare.
“I told you, she’s my friend. She’s actually been pushing me to ask you on a date, reminding me of how unmanly I was being. She’s kinda lethal with it.” He smiled wider, shaking his head, thinking of the story he would have to tell Uraraka later.
Relief flooded the blonde’s face. A shade closer to crimson crept up his neck, one he’d seen a million times before but enthralled him just the same. That addicting flavor of a rare and flustered Bakugou Katsuki.
“Now, come on, you in? Can we do this?”
The reply came quick, like Katsuki didn’t want to waste another moment in this limbo.
“Yeah, I'm in, Red. Be prepared to lose.”
There was the sun shining down at him, even on the inside of their dorm building and in the middle of the evening. It was standing right in front of him, strong and undeterred and nothing short of glorious, even when he was in his pyjamas, even with his hair disheveled like he’d run his fingers through countless times before finally stomping over to Eijirou’s door.
He spoke without thinking, knowing the words rang true all the same. “I already won, Katsuki.”
That must have been the final thread.
Because Katsuki surged forward - rough and committed like he was in all things he set his mind to - but not before Eijirou shot his arms out and wrapped them around his waist, fitting into his arms the way he always imagined it would, steadying them before they risked a fall. Instantly, Katsuki's hands were in his hair, and he absent-mindedly wondered if he’d wanted to run his fingers through his reds just as much as Eijirou wanted to run his through Katsuki’s blondes.
But there was nothing more to wonder about, because all the questions he’d ever asked were being answered with the feel of Katsuki’s lips on his.
Katsuki’s lips were soft as he moved, as messy and resolute as when he was truly living in the thrill of a battle. Eijirou knew the feeling, his moving in tandem with the blonde’s, determined to meet him halfway; equally strong.
Everything was moving in slow motion, Eijirou was seeing doubles of everything - of Katsuki's eyes, red and fiery; of the stars, doubling the expanse of the cosmos; of their future, stretching steady and infinite ahead of them.
It hadn't sunk in just yet, maybe it never would, but he had a date with Bakugou Katsuki tomorrow, with the literal sun incarnate, but more importantly - with his best friend, and he couldn’t help but feel like he’d won the prize of all prizes.
There was a crash, somewhere across the galaxy and at the centre of Eijirou’s heart. A collision of everything he ever wanted and everything he never thought he’d get, nestled strong and real in the palm of his hands.
Eijirou was sure the world could end at the moment and he wouldn’t feel anything that wasn’t the feel of Katsuki’s hands on his neck, the smell of his shampoo - something woody and burnt vanilla - all over Eijirou’s clothes, the rhythm in which their lips moved together, in sync as though they had done it a million times before, as though this was another one of their hard-earned battle victories.
He was sure that the world had already ended, and they were the only thing that remained, the only thing that ever had.
Katsuki and Eijirou.